


Avalanche

by Phenix_Demitto



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, BAMF Loki, Hurt Loki, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki is the Winter Soldier, Loki-centric, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 23:12:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4980328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phenix_Demitto/pseuds/Phenix_Demitto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was one mishap that caused this. Everything is different now, memories are fleeting, Loki can't remember his past. Not that it makes a difference, nothing matters anymore apart from the Mission.</p><p>This is the story of how Loki became the Winter Soldier, this is the story where Loki forgot.</p><p>(Set During/After Thor: The Dark World - Loki's 'death' scene)</p><p>Previously named: 'The Forgotten Winter Painted Red' </p><p>Not abandoned, just on hiatus until the completion of 'The True Power of Mortality'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A couple of things he wants to get straight

The sand beneath Loki's feet was reddish black, suspiciously like ash, and looming over him was a grey and orange sky of dusty clouds. There were big rolling hills of fine dust that made it almost too steep to climb if Loki had wanted to; he didn't since he had just climbed down one. The air was acidic to his nose, burning his airways, and it was warm against his skin making him feel sticky from sweat.  All of this isn't important right now. It's just a location, a backdrop to tell a story.   
  
Before anything else happens, there were a couple of things he wants to get straight.   
  
One- he isn't a hero. Never was, never will be. Sure he wanted to pretend to be a hero but only to fake his death good and proper. It wasn't like he had a lot of options or choices. Here he was on a quest with Thor and his human, Jane, to destroy the Aether and generally save the day, which really wasn't his forte. At the end of all of this, it didn't matter what he did, Odin would just throw him back in the dungeons so really Loki thought he was quite entitled to fake his death.   
  
Thor should be happy, at least Loki wasn't betraying him and switching sides. He wasn't _that_ stupid. Loki wasn't about to help some Dark Elf turn the Nine Realms back into the Dark Ages. He may not be on the side of good but he did have self-preservation.  
  
The second thing he wants to get straight is - plans never turn out exactly how you want. He could plan as much as he wanted, he could plot and scheme, but in the end he couldn't foresee every possibility. It's important to remember that.  
  
Loki stood there, a long blade hanging from his hand. The huge brute, with curving horns protruding from his head and a mass of grey muscle, towered over Thor, who was bloody with a grim but determined expression.   
  
Loki got a little ahead of himself, he'll admit that. Despite what Loki had told the Elf he didn't want Thor dead at his feet, maybe beaten up, mind you Loki did want Odin dead, not with Asgard though. Call it sentiment. Call it history but if he could fake his death while saving Thor then that was fine, great in fact. Don't get him wrong he was still pissed at Thor but that didn't mean he wanted him dead. He was done with the whole murder vengeance thing, it was rather dull and tiresome.  
  
So yes he thrust the blade through the beast's chest and no, he hadn't thought it through. It was almost worth it, Thor staring at the blade then at him like he couldn't quite believe it as if he hoped Loki had been redeemed. Loki could have scoffed, he may not be evil but he wasn't good either. He was whatever suited him at the time.   
  
The roaring monster twisted around in all its horned-spiky glory, the blade sticking from its chest. Before Loki could react he was dragged forward, and impaled on the blade. The creature screeched as the blade slid right through him. Loki gasped as his head fell back, pain shot across him as it sliced him in half. The blade pierced his lung, and protruded out of his back.   
  
He could feel shock setting in, everything was cold. The blood on his lips was metallic, yet he didn't react, only panted. He could hear Thor's yell but it seemed so far away. His hand slipped to the rock at the beast's side and he cupped it in his hand, the roughness of the rock digging in. His eyes met the beast as it roared in his face.  
  
There's something else to get straight - right up until now everything was going to plan. Sure he hadn't planned to actually save Thor, he certainly hadn't planned to be impaled by a knife but he was great at improvising. He was in no danger of dying. Loki wasn't that pathetic that one blade through him was going to kill him. In fact right now he was in the green for faking his death.  
  
So yeah he squeezed the rock, crushing the rock in his palm, and _this_ is when everything went wrong.   
  
He was too close to the explosion.   
  
The red magic swirled and twisted engulfing the beast, in a inferno hot fire, but then it encircled him too as he wrenched himself off the blade to get clear.  
  
Loki could hear Thor crying out, Jane wasn't, not that he blamed her.   
  
Don't get him wrong when he planned on faking his death, the best way was to make it realistic. The one key part is _faking_ and _realistic_ not real, which seemed to have slipped the Norns mind.  
  
Loki could blame it on the shock of the blade through him or lack of planning but either way as he was engulfed he panicked. Loki tried to teleport away and that was his fatal mistake. If he could go back he would have probably accepted certain, probably absolute, death, yet this mistake saved him from being incinerated.  
  
There is one last thing he wanted to get straight - no one ever tells you messing with magic is a bad idea. It was obvious right? Not so much, when you've been practising for hundreds of years, the danger was part of the fun.   
  
In the end he was sure of skills but he didn't take into account the magic around him. As his magic kicked in to transfer him out of the explosion it snaked and whipped and red seeped in, attacking his spell. Loki thrashed in pain, visioning a location and willing the transfer. As Thor cried out, and the red fiery magic closed in disintegrating the beast, he varnished just in time.  
  
Sounds good right? Vanishing at the last second, just escaping the implosion that would have torn him apart. The problem is when he didn't teleport correctly anything can happen, he could teleport inside a wall or the middle of space if he didn't concentrate. Let's just say Loki wasn't fully concentrating.   
  
The universe is made up of atoms, electrons, protons, elements, and magic. Call it science or call it magic it didn't really matter. Normally teleporting works out fine but mix it with his panic and a foreign magic that's tearing through the fabric of matter, nothing good comes of it.  
  
Time and history aren't as set as Loki would hope, it's fluid. Teleporting is a complicated spell and in that moment it went wrong. He'll never really know if it was his panic, injury, magic, concentration or the foreign red magic from the rock.   
  
Loki did manage to fake his death but looking back he should have just taken that dungeon cell courtesy of Odin. Thor would have got him out eventually.  A dungeon cell wouldn't be so bad. He wouldn't know this of course. He wouldn't remember any of this.   
  
But it's curious isn't? If Loki had known what would happen to him when he had messed up the magic, would he have chosen the dungeon cell or the cell in his mind?  
  
It didn't matter anymore, he wouldn't remember anyway. 


	2. Context is all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mild gore

 

What happened after the magic mishap is important, without it there is no context, no reason. After all anything without context a death could be an accident, murder or self defence, morality cannot be weighted, history cannot be applied. Without context things get messy.  
  
He's already explained the plan of faking his death but what is key to understanding all this - was that he was desperate. He truly thought he had nothing left, nothing to lose. Loki had lost his Mother, his status and even his freedom. Yet he still had one thing left. What he hadn't lost was his mind.   
  
Even now, this memory is blurring; he's trying to fill in the gaps, trying to make sense of strings of memories, of lost names connected to feelings that have no known origin. He loses this one so often that when it comes back it is more of a dream than anything else. It has feelings in it that he can't connect to but can brush against. All this talk of losing his mind, he doesn't understand it, it confuses him without context.   
  
The only memories he needs are the ones for the mission, anything else is a liability, a weakness. He knows something isn't right and he clings to it, trying to remember his past just long enough but...It doesn't matter, this memory will be gone soon, he better tell it quick..  
  
~  
  
The dusty plains of ash and heat disappeared when he teleported away from the red that was going to engulf him with the beast.   
  
He had immediately appeared in midair, the air rushing past him as he fell. Loki would have cheered if it wasn't for where he had teleported, it wasn't where he'd wanted, he was off course, not even on the ground.  
  
He tumbled through the air and crashed hard into the rock with a cry. He tried to find a grip to stop him falling down the cliff edge below him but he couldn't.

His left arm was severely mauled by the faulty magic, it gave him no hold. Loki managed to cling for two seconds before his fingers slipped and he fell.   
  
He plummeted like a doll, rolling, smacking and scrapping down the rocky side, crashing against each rock. The world seemed to spin as he tumbled down the cliff side in a fast descent. Each hit stuck him one after another with little mercy, tearing him apart. The rocks sliced into him as he toppled down and down, shattering himself with every hit.  
  
At last the rock came to an end and he fell from it, at least 60 feet, to the frosty ground below. He cracked his head against the ground as he clattered down, broken.  
  
He let out a moan, lying bleeding in the snow. The amount of bones he must have broken should have killed a normal person yet his magic was the only thing that stopped him from dying from shock or blood loss but even that wasn't going to last forever.  
  
The blows to his head were the biggest problem. They made him dizzy, he couldn't concentrate. The pain was unbearable, everything throbbed and screamed. The pain was sharp like glass, making his vision blur as blood from his cracked forehead slid down him face into his eyes.  
  
He faded in and out of consciousness, catching only glimpses of everything. Loki could have been laying, moaning and cursing like a broken thing, for minutes or hours without really knowing. Blood spread out into the snow, in long pools around his limp body.  
  
When he managed to open his eyes again he found his magic had healed the hole in his chest from the blade, allowing him to breathe easier but at the same time everything was still dizzy and jolty.  
  
His magic had done little for his arm. It was.. It was a mess. There was no hand there anymore. A cracked bone was sticking out, muscle barely still attached. It looked more like a stump than anything else. It was clear his magic and that red one hadn't mixed. There was no way he was getting his hand back, ever.   
  
He moaned, blood running from his lips. He tried to move, or shout but pain shot through him causing him to pant. The mangled stump was now bleeding profusely, making him feel light headed. Dots appeared across his vision, his legs going lax.   
  
As he began to sink back into unconsciousness he heard the hum of a machine. He stared fuzzily above to see that there was a small Midgardian plane flying across the grey sky. It glided slowly across his vision, yet the sight didn't make sense, the plane belonged in a museum. It was from another time, he thought as he fainted.   
  
Next thing he knew there was a man in uniform hovering over him, shouting something. Sluggishly Loki's head lolled to the side, groaning, with a metallic taste in his mouth. There were guns pointed at him, yet they were wrong too, no one used those anymore as they were outdated.   
  
One man reached for him and he snarled, a green blaze shot out incinerating the man instantly. He flicked his fractured right hand, knocking the other men back with the remanance of his magic.   
  
Another man rushed at him. He pulled at the magic to.. to..  
  
Everything went to black.   
  
After that the string of memories are disjointed. He's not sure if it's because he fainted or he's forgotten. He likes to think it's real, it makes sense, but he has no proof of it being reality. This could all just be a fabrication, a way of adding context to something without.  
  
Next in the memory he was being dragged through the thick snow. His clothes were soaked through from the snow and he couldn't feel his toes. It didn't bother him, better numb than the pain.   
  
Blood leaves tracks from his severed arm follow behind him as he is pulled along, his legs dangling. He twisted weakly at the hands on his shoulders.  
  
"Unhand me!" He slurred.   
  
He never knew the response, the memory lacks coherency. Perhaps there was a response but he doesn't remember it. He only remembers the blurred face hovering over him. It was recently burnt, he was likely the cause.  
  
He woke on a table with his clothes dry but stiff from blood. There were people all around him, smudged and hazy faces staring as their hands touched and prodded at him. Pain shot through him with a deep clarity. 

 _Get off. Get off. GET OFF!_  
  
The memory is unfocused, he can't tell how much time has passed but he can feel the pain. It's sharp, maddening even in a memory.  
  
He is angry in the memory but he doesn't know why. He can't remember. He can barely remember the faces.  
  
He snarled, flinging every bit of magic at the people in a surge of fury. A couple crash into the wall in a furry of green, one person caught fire whereas one simply exploded in red meaty confetti.   
  
He panted, twisting around, trying to sit up but he was pushed down.   
  
"Unhand me, you swine!"   
  
It was met by a chuckle and a murmur of something.  
  
"I am Loki of Jötunheim!" He shouted, trying to he get off the table, "Touch me and I will kill you! I'll flay you alive!"  
  
A pair of hands held him down; a long needle pricked his arm. He screeched, twisting and struggling, throwing a bolt of magic right through someone as he sank down onto the table.  
  
Whatever was in the needle must have worked because after that he was in and out of consciousness in a constant haze. Unless it was from the pain, that was likely. His broken bones, forehead and mangled arm added to a sea of unimaginably pain. He was more of a screaming creature, pinned down, than a person. Everything felt like it was on fire.   
  
They cut off the rest of his mangled arm, amputating it. He felt every little cut and burn from their tools as they worked. He tried to push them off with magic but he couldn't even make a green spark. He couldn't make sense of what they were doing. Why couldn't they let him die?  
  
Blood was everywhere, all over the table, dripping onto the floor. His arm was completely gone under their methodical work. The pain was unbearable, being torn in half would hurt less than this.  
  
So tired. His eyes closed.  
  
When he opened his eyes again, the pain was gone. His head and chest ached but his missing arm didn't.  
  
He remembered his eyes flickering to the side expecting to see a gap, the arm completely hacked off, but there was now metal in its place. It was silver and slick, shinning in the light, made up of separate metal sheets like scales on a snake. Someone was fiddling with its inner workings as they screwed in the finishing touches.  
  
Someone was talking to him with a thick accent but he never heard the beginning of the conversation. It was something about being a soldier, a program or was it a snake? He couldn't be sure as he couldn't remember.  
  
His blurred gaze fell to the man who was leant over him with owlish glasses perched on his nose and an off-putting smile, like a shark or a cat's.   
  
The only thing he picked up from what the man said was, "You are to be the new fist of HYDRA."  
  
The memory faded as he launched himself at the man. The surprise of the metal arm working was soon forgotten as his hand clenched around the man's fragile neck. His fingers were glowing with whips of magic, his eye sight blurring.  
  
_"Put him on ice"_  
  
~  
  
After that the memory fades, that is if it is a memory. It seemed so real; the cold snow against skin and the pain from his missing arm. Before that... Thor... He seemed important, a brother he thinks. It made his head hurt, just trying to remember the dusty red plains. He thinks it was real, it would explain why he is where he is. Yet memories before them are hazy. He can't connect further back, to a childhood, to a family. Maybe none of it is real. Thor.. He'd save him, whoever he was or was it just to save himself. He couldn't tell.  
  
Loki was suddenly struck across the face. He grunts, his head jerking back, from the blow. Loki's eyes flicker around to find men stationed around the room, Zola to his right but not the one who slapped him. He didn't remember them entering the room.  He can't bring himself to care for not noticing and lets his gaze fall to his hands. They are still covered in blood, sticky and flaking, a red tinge caught under the fingernails, though it's not his blood.  
  
"Mission report." The man demanded.  
  
He stared at his hands, clenching and unclenching his prosthetic arm. It was coated in a faint spray of blood and coiled and uncoiled at will as if it were a real arm. He had a real one there once, long, slender and milky white now it was strong, silver and metal. Fake.  
  
He had a real arm when he was with the man, Thor, he remembered using it to stab the beast. He'd tried to fake his death, to hide from this Thor, but why?  
  
He played with the name in his head, Thor. Th-or.. _Thor._ It was soft but powerful. It seemed familiar, a novelty, he didn't remember many names anymore.   
  
"Thor..." He murmured, tasting it on his lips, exploring its sound.   
  
Loki could see him, lying in dust, bloody and nearly defeated.   
  
They had a past together he was sure, a lot of history he couldn't remember. Thor might not.. Likely,  isn't real.   
  
His head was suddenly yanked back by his hair. He didn't make a noise, staring blankly at the man.  
  
"Mission report." The man repeated.  
  
He stared up at him for a moment, before working out what he was asking.   
  
"Target neutralised." He murmured.  
  
He tried to stand up but he was pushed down firmly, almost knocked down. He frowned at the man. His eyes flickering to Zola, he saw no expression, then looked back at the man.   
  
"Casualties?" The man spat.  
  
He caught a glimpse of a blonde man tumbling down an ash black hill.   
  
_Thor.. Thor..._

 _Blood.. So much blood._ _  
  
"Loki, now!" _  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut as everything shifted to ice.   
  
_Snow lying thick on the ground, biting at his skin. He couldn't see the mangled stumble.. He was falling, crashing on the rocks. The cold snow below, his body bleeding. There was sharp pain, gnawing into him, mauling him._  
  
His breath caught his throat as the room began to feel like it was spinning.  
  
"I thought you said he was sorted, he's obviously unstable."  
  
The man seemed so far away, like he was hearing him through a bottle. It echoes in his head, not really sinking in, though he knew he didn't like his tone.  
  
"He's almost ready.." Zola said, in his familiar accent, "A couple more of the treatments and he'll be perfect."  
  
His gaze fell to Zola, not really listening.  
  
That man looked out for him, he was good. He knew what was best, what was right, what to do.  
  
Yet that memory..

 _The saws.. The screaming and green blasts.. The struggling.._  
  
Zola wasn't helping him, he was bad.   
  
No he was good. He was good. He was good.  
  
He clenched his fists. _Blood spilling across the snow. Twisting, screaming._  
  
Zola hurt him - No helped him, saved him.   
  
Wait, didn't Zo- Good. Good. Good. Friend.  
  
"He's out of control!" The man snarled, "He kills our men! He's not what you promised us!"  
  
The man grabbed Zola's shoulder roughly, his hand on his gun, "he-"  
  
Loki snarled, his metal arm shooting out without thinking and ripped the man from Zola. The men around him notched their guns.  
  
Bad man. Threat. Zola good.   
  
He grabbed the man's head and twisted until there was a crunch, a snap of his spine. The man toppled to the ground, broken, and still. Neutralised.   
  
Zola squinted at the body, eyes slightly widened for a moment, before looking at him at him.   
  
Loki was panting slightly, red at the edge of his vision, everything spinning.  
  
Protect. Protect. Defend.  
  
After a moment, Zola rested a hand on his shoulder, "That was unnecessary, Loki."  
  
He frowned, trying to concentrate on the man but images flickered in front of his eyes.

 _Air rushing past his ears, screaming, screaming as he fell. Blood poured from a stump. A plane across a grey sky, a man's burned face. They cut into the bone, melding metal, pinning his convulsing body. Thor, Thor, Thor._  
  
He pressed his hands over his ears, barely able to stop himself clawing at them. The grip on his shoulder tightened.  
  
"Memories are coming back aren't they?"  
  
He stared at him numbly. Don't answer. Don't answer, something not right.   
  
"They re not real." Zola said.  
  
He swallowed, he could feel a phantom stabbing pain through his chest of a blade.  
  
"It seems real." He mumbled, his gaze dropping with a sinking feeling of having done something wrong.  
  
How could they not be real? He couldn't make them up. This man- this brother- Thor, he seemed real. Yet Zola said it isn't. Zola is good, Zola knows best. Something is wrong.  
  
He felt himself being guided across the room, men following behind, stepping over the broken discarded body.   
  
"We're so close," Zola continued, his eyes lighting up, "You can't let this get in the way. We're creating a new world order and your part of it, you're vital."  
  
Loki didn't reply, just stared at the machine that was now in front of him. He internally shuddered, not this. He didn't like this machine, this machine was bad. He wanted to get away from the machine and _that_ chair. Zola was good though. He knew best. Protect, protect, defend.  
  
Zola must have sensed his hesitation, "It's better this way." He said.   
  
Loki shook his head. It caused an ache to form, building and building, his heart quickened. His mouth was dry, he shouldn't disagree.  
  
Loki felt a sharp gaze on him.  
  
"Do you remember what happened last time you said no?" Zola said with a stern undertone.  
  
He didn't. What was there to remember? He had little memories. They were unnecessary.  
  
Something flickers in his mind's eyes...Mother... A dead mother. What was her name? Maybe his mother was alive or was it all a trick of his mind. False memories.. He would never know. It wasn't important. Not part of a mission.  
  
He didn't remember what had happened the last time he had said no but it gave him a feeling of dread. It was only a feeling but it felt like a leftover of someone else's from another time.   
  
"Bad." Loki said slowly.   
  
Zola nodded, "It's for your own good, theses fake memories are a problem, no?"  
  
He nodded numbly. They weren't fake, they couldn't be fake. How would he know? Something was wrong... something was wrong. _Something was wrong._  
  
Zola waved a hand and a couple of men pushed him down. As he was pushed into the chair under the machine his heart jumped, he started struggling. The metal clasps clamped him down, holding his arms in place. He started breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling.  He twisted and turned in the clasps, shouting and snarling. His legs were shaking, everything looked white.  
  
He could catch the sound of Zola talking to him, saying comforting words, yet all he could do was screech at him. His fingers clawed against the arm rests, leaving marks.   
  
Something was wrong. He'd been here before. Bad. Bad. Pain.  
  
There was a creak of metal as a head piece descended down. Part of it rested against him temple, the rest covered his skull. The cold metal caused him to jerk and twist in animalistic panic.  
  
He has no idea what he was screaming, he was vaguely aware the other men seem disturbed and Zola looked.. Disappointed. He couldn't bring himself to care. The room is spinning, rushing and falling, he wants to run. He wants.. Thor, who ever that man was. He can hear his blood rushing past his ears as his vision hazes.  
  
"Do it." He hears Zola say, seeming so far away, "Wipe him, we'll start over, I think he needs longer in cryo-freeze."  
  
He can feel a build up in his hands, the glow of green.   
  
Something's not right. Something's not right.   
  
He gasps for air, panic filling every crevice.   
  
His gaze falls to a calendar hanging on the wall. The rest of the room is spinning and fuzzy but he can clearly see the shiny paper like a focused camera. It reads 1949 in spidery letters. That's odd.  
  
There's a click. The electrodes shoot to life, sparking blue at the edge of his vision. His body starts jerking, convulsing and quivering as he screams. He can smell the burning of flesh, the jolts shooting through him are like a thousand needles, a blow from a speeding car, the peeling back of skin. His breath is too fast, the pain is too much, it's like being fried or torn apart. He can feel himself unravelling, losing himself, in the tide of pain. He wants to die.  
  
_Something wasn't right._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noticed a lack of Winter Soldier Loki fics, finally got round to writing this. The title may not stick but its a start.  
> Enjoy? I promise the actual plot will start soon


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